


super silence in the quiet, eye inside the storm

by obsceme



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: (sort of), Angst with a Happy Ending, Drinking, Established Relationship, Frottage, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Road Trips, here we are, no beta we die like gender mysterious entities, the snaf/burgie content is p much all on the side but its in there so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:07:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28122114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsceme/pseuds/obsceme
Summary: Falling silent, Eugene concentrates on his cup of coffee, on the sounds of Snafu cooking and Burgie cleaning up along the way, on the weight of Sidney’s hand in his. Sid is peering at him over the mug in his other hand, his eyes soft and fond andhappy. It’s a look that Eugene has seen countless times before, but never at this intensity.He thinks he’d very much like to see Sid look this happy all the time, every day, for the rest of his life if Eugene can help it.
Relationships: R. V. Burgin/Merriell "Snafu" Shelton, Sidney "Sid" Phillips/Eugene Sledge
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	super silence in the quiet, eye inside the storm

**Author's Note:**

> title is from it's all so incredibly loud by glass animals 
> 
> i'd just like to preface this fic with the fact that i've never read any of the memoirs so i don't know the real depth of the relationships between, for example, sidney and burgie, or snafu and literally anyone from h company. so take any of my descriptions of the more minor friendships with a grain of salt. i hope y'all enjoy my first crack at writing for this fandom, and as always, i highly encourage y'all to leave me your thoughts, if you're into that sort of thing :*

_The foxhole is humid and filled with thick, sopping mud. Eugene can feel it squishing under his boots, filling the soles, spreading between his toes and beneath his heels. A cacophony of sounds rises around him, leaving his ears buzzing and ringing._

_Sounds of shells dropping, making impact. Screams of the marines unlucky enough to be caught in the radius of the blast. The noise of machine gun fire, of orders being barked. The roar of the Japs as they push forward, unafraid and unrelenting. The sounds of war, filling Eugene’s ears and mind until there’s nothing left for it to consume._

_Eugene can still feel the residual warmth of his dream, the one where he’s safe and sound back home, laying in bed curled around Sidney. They were reading and dozing in the dream, basking in the rays of the afternoon sun filtering through their bedroom window, one of Sid’s hands in his hair and the other entwined with one of Eugene’s own._

_It was peaceful, quiet._

_Now, though, he’s alone in this hole, which is not a good sign. Even more pressing, he doesn’t remember how he got here. Eugene knows it’s likely just that weird limbo one finds themselves in after a pleasant dream, that momentary pause between sleeping and waking when he doesn’t understand where he is or why he’s there._

_Nevertheless, Eugene continues to wonder why he can’t remember what happened before this moment, beyond his dreams of home and peace. Of Sidney and his warm skin and soft smiles. Even after waking from a dream-filled sleep, Eugene should know what preceded his slumber. And yet, he has absolutely no fucking idea._

_He’s just here, in this hole, laying on his back like an overturned bug. Like he’s waiting for death to come and find him, to pull him from the muddy depths and free him from the hell that is the Pacific._

_There’s a gun in his hands, and he realizes he’s on his back, legs bent at the knees, boots planted firmly in the mud. He’s cradling his gun to his chest like it’s his most prized possession (because out here, it is), breath coming out in short, shallow pants._

_This is not what marines do, Eugene thinks, gritting his teeth and moving to sit up, but finds that he can’t, almost like there’s something pinning him down. His brows furrow, and he tries again, still unable to lift himself out of the mud. The more he struggles, the further he sinks into it, like quicksand._

_Eugene feels the mud curling over his ears, filling them up until he can hardly hear the noise from above. He can’t scream, it’ll attract the Japs. They’ll come gun him down right in this hole. But he’ll also die if he doesn’t. Even through his panic, he knows this._

_When Eugene opens his mouth to scream, he finds that he can’t do that, either, almost like his voice has been stolen from him. His chest constricts with fear, and he desperately tries to cry out, to no avail._

_He doesn’t know how much time passes as he struggles, trying to move, trying to speak. It could be seconds, or hours. Eugene doesn’t know, has nothing to measure it by. He can’t pry his fingers from his gun, can’t lift his wrist to check his watch._

_Sinking into his panic, Eugene feels it wind itself in the curves of his bones, the sinews of his muscles, until it’s all he knows. Panic and fear, coursing hot and cold through his veins._

_Then, darkness spills over him. Eugene blinks rapidly, trying to make out a face. The figure is blurry, just a shadow at first. Then it morphs into the shape of Snafu, hovering over the hole and staring down at him with empty eyes._

_“You plannin’ on joinin’ us anytime soon, princess? Look at you. A pussy marine cowerin’ down a hole, hidin’ from the fight,” Snafu sneers, his lips twisting unpleasantly as he speaks. For reasons Eugene doesn’t understand, Snafu’s accent is more exaggerated, more pronounced, curling around every word._

_He doesn’t have long to think on it, because suddenly, Snafu is in the hole, hovering over Eugene and baring his teeth._

_“You ain’t suppos’d to be here, Sledgehamma’,” Snafu says, but it’s almost a gasp, like he’s running out of air. “Go home, Gene.”_

_Eugene opens his mouth to ask Snafu what in the hell he’s talking about, but his throat is still locked up, the words getting stuck. It’s then that Snafu looks like he’s going to continue speaking, but blood just spills from his lips instead, right into Eugene’s open mouth._

_Gasping and choking, Eugene tries to shove Snafu off of him. Realizes a little too late that he’d managed to move and grab his sidearm, pointing his pistol at Snafu’s stomach. Eugene thinks he shouldn’t be able to see anything, not when it’s this dark down in the hole, not with Snafu hovering over him like this, but regardless, he can see plain as day._

_He’d shot Snafu in the gut, somehow, some way, and now Snafu is bleeding out right into Eugene’s mouth, suffocating him with it._

_Snafu’s mouth opens impossibly wide, like he’s taking the world’s biggest breath in preparation for a scream. Instead, his words are soaked in blood, roaring in Eugene’s ears and slamming into him like a freight train._

_“I said go home, Eugene!”_

* * *

At first, when Eugene wakes, he doesn’t realize it. He’s almost certain he's still on some shitty island in the Pacific, certain there's still blood dripping into his mouth.

Laying flat on his back, soaked in sweat and staring up at a ceiling he’s not really seeing, Eugene can feel the blood, can taste it, thick and warm like syrup in his throat. Despite Snafu being nowhere in sight, it’s still filling Eugene’s mouth, his lungs, his chest, and he chokes on it, spluttering and gasping and clawing at his throat.

Eugene has imagined dying before. He’d pictured it hundreds of times crossing that airfield in Peleliu, and again in Okinawa. In Pavuvu he'd often toss and turn on his shitty cot, imagining what it would be that’d finally take him out.

Would it be a bomb, blowing Eugene’s limbs off and leaving him to bleed slowly into the mud? Would it be bullets, filling him with holes like swiss cheese? Or would it be the mosquitos, biting and taking and leaving disease in their wake, bestowing Eugene with a fever he wouldn’t be able to shake, one that would eventually burn him out?

In all his imaginings, he never thought he’d die laying at the bottom of a muddy foxhole, choking on the blood of his friends.

It’s been too long since Eugene could pull in a proper breath, but his head starts to feel lighter. The panic subsides, and Eugene stops fighting, hands going limp where they’d been grasping at his throat, desperate for air. 

He stares up at a cloudless blue sky, listening to the jungle whispering around him. The sounds of a firefight are absent, but Eugene figures that’s just what happens when you die. The world simply… falls silent.

Choking is a lot like drowning, or so it seems. There’s a certain peace to it, after the initial panic. Like drifting off to sleep, comfortable and undisturbed. 

After a stretch of blissful silence, Eugene thinks he can hear a voice, and he wonders, a little stupidly, if it’s Ack Ack, or maybe Hillbilly. Calling to him from somewhere beyond, letting him know it’s okay, that he can let go now.

Letting his eyes slip shut, Eugene gives in.

* * *

He comes to with Sidney’s hands on his shoulders, shaking him so hard his teeth clack together. For a moment, Eugene doesn’t understand.

For a moment, he twists violently, eyes darting around the room in confusion. He can feel the sweat pooling at his lower back, can feel the sheets twisted around him, can feel Sidney’s hands grabbing his shoulders and face, frantic speech muted from the ringing in Eugene’s ears. But he’s also still somewhere in the Pacific, still has blood pooling in his mouth, spilling from his lips.

Eugene is both in the jungle, and in the room he shares with Sidney. It leaves his mind feeling fractured, one foot in the past and the other in the present. 

He buries his head in his hands, covers his ears, pulls at his hair. One moment it’s chaos, bullets and blood and gaping wounds. The next, it’s his bedroom at home. It’s Sid, his soft touch, his kind eyes filled with what, at the moment, seems to be sheer terror.

One moment it’s death and decay and loss after loss, the shadow of What Comes After following Eugene’s every footstep. The next it’s the softness of the sheets he’d let Sid pick out even though they were a bit too pricey. It's the sound of Sid’s voice, full of fear, desperate words that Eugene still can’t make out spilling from his lips.

The back-and-forth between the past and present, then and now, has Eugene’s head throbbing. He doesn’t know which is the here and now, and which has already come to pass.

It isn’t until Eugene realizes that he’s breathing again - taking deep, ragged breaths and gulping in air almost greedily - that he finally understands where he is, _who_ he is.

He’s not Sledgehammer, taking lives like a child takes candy from a corner store, liberally and almost thoughtlessly. Not anymore. He’s Eugene from Mobile, Alabama, sitting in bed next to the boy he loves, experiencing a flashback so vivid that he genuinely believed it to be reality.

Sidney lets out a ragged sigh of relief as Eugene learns to breathe again, pulling Eugene into his arms and cradling him almost like a child. It causes a sickness to bloom in the pit of Eugene’s stomach, knowing what he’s putting Sid through and being completely powerless to stop it.

It takes Eugene a moment to realize he’s crying, tears making warm, salty tracks down his cheeks, blubbering a repetitive mess that sounds something like _I’msorryI’msorry_ into the fabric of Sid’s shirt. Sidney just shushes him, carding his fingers through Eugene’s hair and rocking them both gently.

“Hey, look at me,” Sid demands after the next string of apologies, gently tilting Eugene’s chin up. “Listen to me. It’s okay. _You’re_ okay. It’s not your fault, Gene, not even for a second.”

Sid sniffles as he speaks, and in lieu of a response, Eugene uses the sleeve of his shirt to wipe at Sid’s nose.

He knows Sid is right, and so are the handful of doctors he’s seen sporadically since the end of the war. It’s not his fault that he carried the war home with him - Sid did too, after all. So does every soldier that makes it through, coming out the other side a changed man.

Despite that knowledge, Eugene can’t stop the waves of guilt that wash through him as Sidney holds him close. Sid has it just as badly, despite seemingly being able to carry it better. It’s not fair that Sid ignores his own pain in favor of taking care of Eugene, and Eugene wants to say that, but he can’t find the words.

Instead, perhaps a little selfishly, Eugene just allows himself to be held.

They don’t go back to sleep after, Sidney too wound up and jittery to find sleep again, Eugene too afraid to close his eyes and be dragged back to the past. Sid puts on a pot of coffee, and they sit at their kitchen table in silence. The sky is still dark when Eugene glances out the window above the sink.

“We should leave,” Sid announces suddenly, tired eyes still fixed on the mug in his hands.

Eugene glances over at him, brows drawing together in confusion. “Leave?”

“Alabama,” Sid clarifies, “just for a little while.”

There’s a long stretch of silence while they contemplate this, and Eugene feels the guilt bubbling up inside of him once again. Sidney is a ‘Bama boy through and through, as is Eugene, and neither of them have ever contemplated leaving. They have family here, friends, a home. Their whole lives, really.

Eugene hates that he’s caused Sid to question that.

“You thinking about this ‘cause of me?”

Sid winces, shaking his head. “Not because of you. _For_ you. You need to get away, Gene, get out of your head and out of this house for something other than work. I mean, shit, you stopped _breathing_ earlier. I thought you were gonna die.”

Eugene rears back in his chair, his anger flaring suddenly and a little violently. “Let me make sure I got this right. I have some shit going on, and your solution is to just - to what. Send me away? Like it’s some kind of goddamn vacation?”

Sid flinches at the unexpected curse, and Eugene shoves himself up from the table, pacing over to the window and staring out into the darkness of the early morning, feeling a little more than off-kilter. 

He knows he can’t be mad, not really. Not when he keeps Sid up at all ours of the night, shaking and screaming and living in a time that has long since passed. But it doesn’t change the fact that he _is_ mad - distraught, really - at the notion that Sid is so fed up that he’d rather just send Eugene away than deal with any of it.

The noise Sid’s chair makes as he pushes himself back from the table is unpleasant, scraping across the wooden floorboards. It sets Eugene’s teeth on edge, though he knows Sid only does it as a warning, to let Eugene know he’s coming close. There have been far too many moments where they’ve unintentionally snuck up on one another, nearly triggering an episode each time.

Prepared for what’s coming next, Eugene doesn’t flinch as Sid comes up behind him, circling his arms around Eugene’s waist and hooking his chin over his shoulder. Sid presses a kiss to the thin skin covering his pulse point.

“I’m sorry,” Sid starts, sighing gently, sounding far too old and tired for such an early point in his life. “I shoulda said it different. ‘M not sending you away, Gene. I want us _both_ to get outta here, just for a few days.”

Traitorous tears well up in Eugene’s eyes, and he wipes them away angrily, now mad at himself for not letting Sidney explain before getting all bent out of shape.

“You ain’t gotta apologize to me, Sid. I’m the asshole. I’ll go wherever you want me to go, as long as you’re there with me.”

Eugene twists in Sid’s arms so he can face him, leaving his lower back pressed against the kitchen sink. When Sid kisses him, it’s a tender thing, both sides of Eugene’s face cupped in his hands, thumbs smoothing gently over his cheekbones.

No matter how much time has passed, every time Sid kisses him is like the first time. Eugene hums into it, wrapping his arms around Sid’s neck, pulling him closer. Sometimes, he still can’t believe that he’s allowed to have this, and this is one of those times.

When Sid shipped out, Eugene had been obviously jealous. Not just that Sid was able to enlist, but that Sid would be an ocean away without him, surrounded by other marines that could possibly fill the Eugene-shaped void left in his wake. 

They’d barely done anything together as more than friends back in those days, before the war; a few shy kisses shared behind closed doors, some cuddling when they’d fall asleep together reading books or comics. It was something they never discussed, not back then, and not when Sid shipped out, and not when Eugene first arrived in Pavuvu. 

So, really, Eugene had no right to be jealous at the simple thought of Sid finding comfort in the touch of another man who wasn’t _him_. They never talked about a relationship, or their feelings, or even what the point of those few shy kisses was. They were too comfortable with how things were, too afraid to disrupt their natural rhythm, too scared of getting caught.

Then, Eugene enlisted and at the same time, Sid was coming home. They passed each other like two trains in the night, like two planets orbiting close but never colliding. And when Eugene returned home as a broken, mangled mess of the man he was before, he’d expected much of the same.

He’d expected Sid to be married to some beautiful broad who’d give him an acceptable love and babies and a stable home life, all the things Eugene never could. He’d expected wedding photos, stories of Sid’s new love and how they met - all the news of Sid’s life with this mystery woman Eugene created in his mind. 

He did that a lot during those long nights in Pavuvu, between campaigns when they were waiting on bated breath for the next bout of hell. He'd lay awake at night, imagining Sid giving his love to a woman who may not even exist and making himself miserable over it. Eugene even convinced himself that agonizing over these things was necessary, in order to prepare himself for what to expect upon his return home, if he ever made it that far.

What Eugene never expected was Sid pushing him into his bedroom the first day they were reunited back in Mobile, pinning him up against the door and kissing him like his life depended on it. All while Eugene’s parents moseyed around the house, none the wiser.

Sid had guided them back towards the bed, falling backwards onto it and getting a lapful of Eugene as he tumbled down on top of him. They’d kissed, and they’d kissed, and they’d kissed, in ways they’d never done before. In ways Eugene didn’t think he’d be able to live without once he’d had a taste. 

As it turned out, Eugene didn’t ever have to live without it after that day. Sidney kept showing up, kept choosing Eugene, even when Mary Houston batted her eyelashes and made eyes at him, citing Sid as the bravest man she’d ever known. Sid smiled politely and went through the motions of what was expected of him, though when his eyes found Eugene over her head, he lit up like the sky on New Year’s Eve. 

Mary Houston, funnily enough, thought it had been because of her.

It’s been a year since then, a year of them getting jobs, and subsequently their own place, and Eugene still has trouble grappling with the fact that this is his reality now. Sidney is his reality. They have to tiptoe around other people of course, make it clear that they’re just two bachelors shacking up together until they can find the respective loves of their lives, but Eugene is happy. Content.

They still get funny looks and quiet whispers more often than not, but it doesn’t matter in the least to Eugene what people think of them. He’s already found the love of his life, and he gets to fall asleep next to him every night, for as long as Sidney will have him. As far as Eugene is concerned, he’s the luckiest man in the world on that front.

“What’re you thinking about?” Sid murmurs, his face now tucked into the space where Eugene’s shoulder meets his neck.

Eugene runs his fingers through Sid’s hair, delighting in the little shiver he gets in response. “You. Us. The usual.”

“You thinking at all ‘bout what I said?”

“Louisiana,” Eugene says before he can think about it, surprising even himself.

“Snafu and Burgie,” Sid agrees with a nod, somehow knowing what Eugene is suggesting even when he himself doesn’t. “You’ve heard from them lately?”

 _Burgie, yes, Snafu, no_ , Eugene thinks. But Burgie and Snafu live together, down in the Bayou state. Burgie writes to Eugene routinely, and he talks about Snafu in every letter. How he’s doing, what he’s been up to, how their relationship is progressing. Eugene never gets a letter from Snafu himself, but when he’d asked Burgie, he was told to not take it personally, that Snafu hates writing and hasn’t sent a letter to anyone else, either.

“Got a letter from Burgie a few days ago. Apparently Snaf is on some kick about wanting sheep and Burg ain’t having any of it.”

Sid chuckles, extricating himself from Eugene’s embrace and snagging his coffee from the table before resettling. “I think it’d be good to go see them. Any chance they’d be interested in hosting us for a few days?”

“I can send a telegram and find out,” Eugene tells him, their elbows brushing. His own coffee remains on the table, untouched and rapidly cooling.

“Wanna go back to bed?”

Eugene quietly takes the mug from Sid’s hands, dumping it in the sink behind them despite his protests. He then crowds Sid against the sink, lips twitching at the faint blush blooming across Sid’s cheeks. Eugene kisses him, slowly and sweetly, one hand on the back of Sid’s neck, the other coming to rest at his hip.

“We’re gonna go back to bed,” Eugene promises, his accent curling around the words, voice pitched low, “but we sure as hell ain’t sleeping.”

Sid laughs all the way to the bedroom and doesn’t stop, not until Eugene gets a hand in his boxers, the sounds of his laughter melting into a stuttered gasp.

* * *

The whole process of planning their trip is almost too easy, in Eugene’s opinion. 

There isn’t a fight with either of their bosses for time off - something about fighting for them in the brutal conditions of the Pacific really putting their bosses in the mood for granting vacation time. Snafu and Burgie aren’t hard to get ahold of either, nor is it difficult to make plans with them, or pack up their truck, or head out on the open road.

One moment, they’re laying in bed after fooling around, talking quietly about their upcoming trip to Louisiana, and the next they’re actually _in_ Louisiana, Eugene watching the landscape roll by from the passenger’s seat of their truck.

Snafu and Burgie have a cozy farmhouse up on a hill in the countryside. It’s quaint, but it already feels homey and Sid is only just now pulling up to the driveway.

When the truck stutters to a stop at the foot of the dirt road leading to the house, Eugene grabs the strap of his overnight bag and clutches it in a white-knuckle grip, suddenly nervous. He can see Sid glance over out of the corner of his eye, quietly measuring Eugene’s reaction to their arrival.

“You feeling okay?” Sid asks, his voice soft.

Eugene swallows around the lump that has suddenly formed in his throat, taking a pause to figure out exactly what he’s feeling.

The entire drive to Louisiana had been fraught with excitement, Eugene practically bouncing out of his seat at the prospect of seeing his closest war buddies. Two people who understand him and what he’s been through, and a third who loves him endlessly sitting by his side. For most of the drive, Eugene was pretty sure that’s exactly what he’s been needing all this time, through all this pain.

Now, however, looking up at the house, Eugene is uncertain. He can’t help but wonder if seeing Snafu and Burgie will bring everything he’s been trying to forget to the forefront of his mind.

The thought alone is enough to scare him, but Eugene wonders, fleetingly, if perhaps that’s exactly what he needs. To purge all the pain and anguish twisting in a never-ending cycle beneath his ribcage. 

Maybe then, and only then, he’ll sleep through the night. Maybe then, he won’t wake up with bruises under his eyes, yawning into his coffee after another night of tossing and turning, of nightmares that flash behind his eyelids every time he allows them to slide shut.

It feels a little ridiculous to even think it; Eugene knows that these things that plague him, these memories of the war and the hell he endured, they’ll never truly go away. But he thinks that maybe, just maybe, if he talks about it more with people who understand - who _really_ understand - it might hurt him less.

Snafu and Burgie aren’t head-shrinkers by any means, but they understand Eugene and his pain. Sid’s, too. On the road to healing, they seem to be as good a start as any.

“Yeah,” Eugene says, finally. He releases the breath he’d been holding, relaxing the tense line of his shoulders before fixing Sid with a soft look, his lips quirking up at the corners. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”

It’s more an affirmation than it is an explanation for his hesitation, but Sid understands. He reaches over to brush Eugene’s hair from his forehead, then slides his hand down to cup Eugene’s cheek.

“Yeah. We’re okay.”

Sid moves the truck closer to the house and cuts the engine, grabbing Eugene’s hand and giving it a comforting squeeze before stepping out of the car.

The Louisiana heat is almost as oppressive as the heat they’d endured in the Pacific, hot and heavy and humid. For a moment, Eugene can almost hear the creaking and groaning of the jungle, the chittering of tropical wildlife, and he squeezes the bag in his hands a little tighter.

But there’s a difference between here and there, Eugene reminds himself. Here, there is no machine gun fire, no bombing overhead. Here, Eugene carries nothing but a bag of his clothes and toiletries, rather than the heavy weight of a mortar over his shoulder. Here, he can flop down in the soft grass if he wants to, recline and relax rather than dive into a foxhole to keep his life and limbs intact.

Here, the only sounds filling Eugene’s head are the buzzing of cicadas, the soft rustle of leaves and grass, the creaking of a wooden swing hanging from a nearby tree, swaying gently in the hot afternoon air.

Sid circles around the truck to where Eugene is standing, resting a palm at the small of his back. “Ready?”

Before Eugene has time to formulate a response, the front door is swinging open and Burgie appears, wearing a smile as bright as the sun and wiping his hands on a dishtowel.

“Thought I saw some miscreants loitering around my driveway,” Burgie says, leaning against the doorframe as Eugene and Sid approach, Sid wearing a matching dazzling smile and Eugene wringing his hands nervously.

Burgie steps out of the doorway and onto the porch, extending his hand for Eugene to shake. Eugene accepts, but before he can do anything, Burgie is tugging him into a friendly embrace, clapping him on the back with a laugh.

“Why so serious, Sledgehammer?” 

Eugene thought the nickname would make his skin prickle, even went so far as to prepare an explanation for why he wants Burgie and Snafu to just call him Eugene, or Gene if they prefer. Instead of a wave of nausea, Eugene just feels a wave of familiarity. Of _belonging_.

Since he returned from the war, Eugene has routinely separated his present self from his past self, practically outright refusing to consider them as the same person. Sledgehammer and Eugene, in his mind, have been two vastly different people.

He never really thought of that cavernous separation as anything more than just something he had to do to cope. To get by. A way of dealing with the horrors he saw and the atrocities he committed in service of his country. 

Necessary atrocities, but atrocities nonetheless.

Now, Eugene wonders if he can merge his present self and his past self into one cohesive unit, if he can reconcile with the fact that then and now are one in the same. The same person, the same experiences, the same life. 

Instead of stepping outside of his present self to deal with his gruesome past, maybe he can join the two and stop existing as two halves of a whole person, never knowing which one he’ll be on any given day.

Eugene shakes his head a little to clear it, having pulled away from Burgie while he lost himself in thought. He’s still clutching onto Burg’s hand, a little too tightly, but Burgie doesn’t seem to mind. He simply waits patiently for Eugene’s answer, looking relaxed, like he has all the time in the world.

“Long drive, I guess,” Eugene answers finally, and he's aware that Burgie knows there’s more, but they have time to talk about it.

When Eugene moves to head inside, Sid and Burgie shake hands, saying their hellos and foregoing any introductions. Eugene, for reasons he now can’t fathom, never thought to ask if Sid and Burgie knew each other personally. Although Sid was with H Company and Burgie was with K Company, Eugene finds it safe to assume they’d crossed paths during the war and are at least relatively acquainted.

He has no idea if it’s the same story when it comes to Snafu. Eugene only knows the version of Snafu that he met during the war, and he doesn’t know if there are any other versions of him, but regardless he doesn’t think that two people as different as Sid and Snafu would’ve ever mingled.

But then again, Eugene also never thought Snafu would fall into bed with Burgie, much less get a place with him to live out the rest of their days together, so frankly he has no idea what to expect.

Eugene steps into the small foyer, looking around at the homey clutter. Sid and Burgie stay out on the porch, chatting easily back and forth. He suspects they’re giving him some privacy to reunite with Snafu, and for that he’s grateful. 

Someone is whistling from the kitchen as Eugene walks through the house, and he follows the sound with a smile. He finds Snafu at the kitchen sink, whistling to himself as he washes dishes. Eugene leans against the far wall, a crooked smile tugging on his lips.

“You make that up yourself?” Eugene asks after a beat, and he's a little surprised that Snafu doesn’t startle. He merely turns around and fixes Eugene with that wide, clear-eyed stare that he’d grown so accustomed to during the war, trademark smirk in place. 

“You really gotta ask?” Snafu drawls, one brow arching. “What, you already forget all the lyrical genius you experienced from yours truly?”

Eugene remembers, alright. Snafu was always humming or singing some song he made up on the fly, more often than not just to bug the other guys. It rubbed Eugene all the wrong ways at first, and he sometimes found himself wanting to pop Snafu right in the mouth just to get him to shut up. But he’d slowly realized that while Snafu may just enjoy the simplicity of annoying his fellow marines, it was also a way for him to get whatever was floating around in his head out of his system.

They’d all learned to cope in different ways during wartime without actually talking about anything, and singing or humming was just the mechanism Snafu happened to settle on.

Eugene has never complained to him about it, to this day.

“Don’t think I’ll ever be so blessed as to forget,” Eugene tosses back, and it’s meant to be just light teasing, but when the words land they hit both of them harder than he’d intended.

They only hit so hard, though, because they’re true, in more ways than just the one.

Snafu gets that pensive look on his face, the one he gets when his head is starting to fill up with things he can’t push down. Eugene knows that look well, despite not knowing exactly what it is that’s floating around in his mind. So he does the only thing he can think to do. He crosses the room, wraps Snafu in the biggest hug he can muster, and holds on tight.

For a long moment, Snafu stands completely still, not returning the embrace in kind. After a few beats, however, he lets his arms wind around Eugene, patting his back in a way that’s both fond and a little awkward. Like he’s happy to receive the unexpected affection, but has no idea what to do with it.

“Damn, Sledge,” Snafu laughs, though he doesn’t pull away. “You musta been real lonely these days, comin’ all the way out here, lovin’ on me like this and all.”

Eugene rolls his eyes, pulling back and thumping Snafu on the shoulder. “Lonely ain’t exactly the word I’d use.”

He’s referring to Sid, but Snafu must be under the assumption that there’s an underlying meaning to Eugene’s words, because he tilts his head to the side, asking, “you been doin’ okay?”

It’s a first, Snafu checking in on Eugene’s wellbeing and all. But there’s no malice behind it, no underlying trickery designed to trip Eugene up and cause him to stumble through his words. Just genuine curiosity, his expression open and welcoming.

As open and welcoming someone as intense as Snafu can be, anyway.

“Seen better days,” Eugene notes, looking down at his hands. “But it’s helped having Sid around. Dunno how he does it, but things are always easier when he’s there, y’know?”

“Well, ain’t he just a peach,” Snafu says slowly, smirk back in place. 

“Nah, Leckie was Peaches, but if you ask Gene, I’m just as sweet,” Sid answers for him, appearing in the doorway with Burgie in tow. He has his hands stuffed in his pockets and a look of pure adoration on his face as he looks at Eugene.

“Lucky Leckie?” Burgie asks, huffing a laugh when Sid nods.

“The one and only.”

Snafu raises his eyebrows at Eugene, silently communicating his question of _who the fuck is he talking about?_ without saying a word.

“One of the How Company boys,” Eugene mutters, which launches the group into a lighthearted debate on which company was superior.

They spend the day chatting like that, mindless and peaceful. Despite also helping Snafu and Burgie with some of their daily chores, Eugene thinks it’s the most relaxed he’s been since coming home. 

Later in the evening, they’re sitting around the small fireplace in the living room, nursing glasses of bourbon and smoking some high-end cigars that had somehow come into Burgie’s possession, ones he says he’s been keeping for a special occasion such as this one.

They’ve lapsed into a comfortable silence, the minutes stretching on as Eugene sips his drink and stares into the fire, his legs sprawled in Sid’s lap. One of Sid’s hands is circled around Eugene’s left ankle, thumb stroking back and forth across the knobby bone.

“Y’all ever think about it?” Eugene asks suddenly, surprising himself with his outburst. He hadn’t even been thinking about anything in particular, just enjoying the feeling of Sid’s hand and the combined warmth of the liquor and the fire.

No one says anything for too long a stretch, and Eugene worries he’s unintentionally killed the mood. 

“Tried not to at first,” Burgie finally says, giving a half-hearted shrug from where he’s seated in front of the armchair Snafu is sitting in. “Gave up when I realized it don’t help anything. 'S not like ignoring it'll help me forget, not really."

Eugene doesn’t miss the way Snafu’s hand covers Burgie’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. Burgie covers Sanfu’s hand with his own, knocking the rest of his drink back in one go.

“You gotta think about it,” Snafu starts slowly, blue eyes staring unblinkingly at his glass, "else you'll go outta your mind tryin' not to."

“Can’t let it be all you think about, though,” Burgie adds, his words slurring just so. “Issa fine line we walk, ain’t it?”

He looks up at Snafu as he says it, his expression just shy of being dopey. Snafu only gives an affectionate nod in response, curling one hand into Burgie’s hair, running his fingers through and separating any tangles. The moment feels strangely intimate and private, and Eugene looks away, wanting to do them the courtesy of not staring holes into their heads while they share it.

“You okay?” Sid asks, and Eugene can’t help but feel like he’s been asked that a hundred times today.

In truth, Eugene doesn’t know. There are so many things he wants to talk about, so much he wants to say to alleviate the burden of war he carries with him everywhere, because it’s getting so fucking _heavy_. But it’s only the first night and Eugene knows he needs to work himself into it instead of diving right in, otherwise he’s liable to fracture his own mind from the stress.

He’s also starting to worry about tonight. About whether or not he’ll wake up the same way he has every night since he came home from the war, screaming and crying and stuck in a memory that won’t end, one that’s been so warped it almost makes the original look tame. Or, if the change of scenery will yield a different result, maybe allowing him and Sidney to sleep peacefully through the night for once. 

Eugene has a very strong feeling that the latter is incredibly unlikely, and if that’s why he’s been sucking down drinks faster than he normally would, well. That’s between him and the man upstairs.

“Ask me again in the morning?” Eugene suggests, searching Sid’s eyes. For what, he doesn’t really know.

Sid squeezes his ankle comfortingly, giving Eugene a lopsided smile. It’s tinged with an undercurrent of sadness, but it’s still a pretty thing, enough to make Eugene’s chest ache. 

“I think you should tell them,” Sid suggests after a moment, doing his best to keep his voice low and quiet.

Snafu and Burgie hear him anyway, and Eugene can feel all of their stares on him at once. His cheeks heat up, hands trembling under the scrutiny. Sid’s weight beneath him is a comfort, though, anchoring him to this moment so he won’t drift away.

“I, uh,” he starts, then pauses to take the last gulp of his drink. “I still get ‘em. The nightmares, I mean. Dunno if I’ll wake y’all up tonight.”

Burgie nods solemnly, growing more and more pensive with each passing second. Snafu stares so hard at Eugene that he’s pretty sure he’s going to come out of this with a hole in his head. It’s not an accusatory stare, by any means, but it’s one that Eugene cannot for the life of him decipher beyond that.

“You ain’t alone, Sledgehamma’,” Snafu tells him, his accent thickening with the alcohol, his words slurred and smooth as honey. “We all got the same shit. _You ain’t alone_.”

He stresses those final three words, almost as if he _needs_ Eugene to understand them, like it’s the most important thing in the world that he gets it.

“You’re not,” Sid agrees. “And you have nothin’ to be ashamed of.”

Eugene’s chest constricts, his heart feeling unreasonably full, though he can’t find any words of his own that feel right. So instead, he slides his legs from Sid’s lap, shifting so he can tuck himself comfortably under Sid’s free arm. 

“I think…” he starts, and then his vision tilts a little and a giggle slips out of him before he can stop it. “I think if I have another drink, I might just fall over right here.” 

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that,” Snafu drawls, eyes half lidded as he grins over at them. “Party don’t stop down here in the bayou.”

Sidney snorts, standing and slowly helping Eugene do the same. “Think ‘m gonna get this one to bed before he pukes on your couch.”

Snafu laughs, loud and hearty. “Spare room’s upstairs, first door on the left.”

They somehow make it to the bedroom in one piece, Eugene having stumbled over every other step with a giggle. Unlike Sid, Eugene makes no move to get ready for bed once they’re in the room, standing and swaying in place, tracking Sid’s movements lazily. When Sid spots him, he just gives him an exasperated smile, moving to get the necessary items from Eugene’s bag.

“C’mon, put these on,” Sid requests, moving closer to Eugene and holding out a set of clothes.

Eugene blinks at them, taking them from Sid silently. Sid, now satisfied, moves to tuck into bed, not noticing Eugene immediately tossing the boxers and shirt onto the floor in a discarded heap. 

“What’re you… _oh_.” Sid’s breath hitches when Eugene comes up behind him, plastering himself to Sid’s back and mouthing at his neck. He chuckles softly, leaning into the touch. “Hi there.”

“Hi,” Eugene murmurs, pressing a kiss to the underside of Sid’s jaw. 

Sidney swivels in their embrace so he can capture Eugene’s lips with his own, sighing softly into the kiss. He allows himself to be pushed back onto the bed, letting Eugene crawl on top of him without complaint, just like the first time they'd ever done this.

They kiss until Eugene’s head spins, Sid’s mouth warm and pliant beneath his own, opening to him easily. Then, Eugene pulls back so he can prop himself up on his elbows for better leverage, and rolls their hips together in slow, calculated movements.

Eugene may be drunk, but he’s gotten particularly good at this over the past year. He’s pretty sure that the soft sounds Sid makes when Eugene gives a particularly good grind of his hips will be forever imprinted in his memory. Eugene wants to somehow steal those breathless little noises, keep them for himself to play on repeat in his mind when he needs them most.

They’re rutting against each other in tandem, completely lost in their own little world until Eugene accidentally lets out a high-pitched whine, far too loud for this time of night. That earns them an annoyed groan from either Snafu or Burgie downstairs, Burgie shouting a drunken _no one wants to hear that!_ at them from the bottom of the staircase.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve heard worse, Burg!” Eugene calls back, at the same time that Sid shouts, “I’m pretty sure _I_ want to hear it!”

Eugene meets Sidney’s eyes again and finds Sid beaming up at him, a wide smile spread across his lips, shoulders shaking from poorly-contained laughter. Eugene finds that he really, really wants to kiss him again.

So he does. Among other things.

Afterward, Eugene rolls off of Sid with a grunt, his breathing uneven and his body covered in a thin layer of sweat. He's still buzzed from the alcohol, and now it feels like he could melt into the mattress, his limbs loose and relaxed and satisfied.

“I love you,” Eugene hums fondly when Sid’s hand finds one of his own. “A whole hell of a lot, y’know?”

Sid doesn’t answer right away, just rolls onto his side, facing Eugene. Then, he presses kisses to every inch of Eugene’s exposed skin that he can reach, punctuating each one with a soft _I love you_. It has goosebumps erupting across Eugene’s entire body, his heart racing in his chest.

He only stops Sid so he can burrow into his arms, resting his head on Sid’s chest. Eugene can hear the steady thump of his heart beating beneath him, and the sound is soothing, lulling Eugene into a light doze. He doesn’t stir again until Sidney shifts, situating the blankets over their bodies before switching the bedside lamp off, cloaking the room in darkness. Eugene is back in Sid’s arms a not even a second later.

For the first time in years, when Eugene feels his eyelids droop, he lets them slide shut, succumbing to sleep without a fight.

* * *

The nightmares don’t come that first night, but they don’t stay away for long. Three nights into their stay, Eugene wakes up in a pool of sweat and tears, tearing at the blankets and clawing at himself like he’s trying to crawl out of his own skin. 

At first, it feels like he’s starting all the way over again, right back at square one. But later, when the sun has fully risen and Eugene is of sound body and mind, he thinks it over. 

He’s nursing a cup of coffee as Snafu and Burgie bustle around the kitchen, easily slipping into their morning routine despite Sid and Eugene’s presence. Sid’s ankle is resting against Eugene’s beneath the table as he sips at his own cup of coffee, scanning an old newspaper that had been strewn across the table. 

Eugene thinks about what Snafu had said that first night, repeating the words in his head. _You ain’t alone_. He certainly hasn’t felt alone these last few days, even feeling like he’s turned a new leaf despite the bad night last night. Eugene wonders, curiously, if he really is starting back at square one, or if this is just what it means to heal. A constant backward and forward that’ll slowly morph into just _forward_ when he’s not paying attention.

“Is this what healing feels like?” Eugene blurts, meeting everyone’s gazes with genuine curiosity. 

The look on Sid’s face has Eugene reaching out, grabbing one of his hands and tangling their fingers together. Sid looks like he might cry, but not entirely in a bad way, because it’s mixed with something that looks a lot like relief. 

And really, Eugene gets that. He’s been avoidant towards his path to recovery ever since his return to U.S. soil, and now it’s like he finally gets it, like he finally understands what it’s going to take to mend his broken soul.

Eugene can understand perfectly well why that comes as something of a relief to Sid, who has been trying to put them both on the path to recovery for some time now and kept finding himself being held back by Eugene and his avoidance.

“I like to think so,” Burgie says, the first to answer, and both he and Snafu have a look of perfect understanding on their faces, mixed with a little melancholy.

Falling silent, Eugene concentrates on his cup of coffee, on the sounds of Snafu cooking and Burgie cleaning up along the way, on the weight of Sidney’s hand in his. Sid is peering at him over the mug in his other hand, his eyes soft and fond and _happy_. It’s a look that Eugene has seen countless times before, but never at this intensity. 

He thinks he’d very much like to see Sid look this happy all the time, every day, for the rest of his life if Eugene can help it.

“I’m okay,” Eugene reassures him quietly, and he knows that Sid didn’t ask, but he felt like it needed to be said anyway.

They’re words he’s uttered to Sid, and everyone else in his life, time and time again. But this time, when the words are hanging in the air between them, Eugene meets Sid’s eyes and a weight lifts from his chest.

For the first time, when he says those words, they feel true.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr at [hartigays](https://hartigays.tumblr.com/)


End file.
